


Connections

by brothergrimace1



Category: Daria - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 07:38:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11732538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brothergrimace1/pseuds/brothergrimace1
Summary: This fic is set during Season Three, and shows how Tom tries to make an effort to connect with a hostile Daria with the universal equalizer - laughter.





	Connections

 

 

  
  
  
“How long must I suffer your presence?”  
  
“Five minutes, twenty-four seconds,” Tom Sloane said, shifting on the lumpy, second-hand couch next to the front window of Casa Lane - where he’d parked himself as soon as Daria Morgendorffer had entered the living room – and looked at the stopwatch function of his wristwatch. “A new record.”  
  
 _This way, I can do something more interesting - and less stressful - than talking to her. Namely, counting objects as they passed in front of the window._  
  
“What was that for?”   
  
The way Daria spoke managed to convey anger, condescension and a defensive tone all at once, and Tom took a ten-count before he turned to face his girlfriend’s best friend.   
  
_You know, Daria, you don’t have to live the stereotype. The hot girl’s best friend doesn’t need to be one pretentious, badly dressed, ball-cutting bitch._  
  
He counted off an extra six seconds before he spoke. “How long it would take between the time you set foot inside Jane’s house, and when you sta-”  
  
 _If you start it up with her, that’s more time Jane has to spend calming her down, and less time that we get together,_  Tom thought; a robin with an especially bright-orange coloring set down on the statue in the front yard.   
  
_I have to remember to ask my mom about that statue. It looks a lot like the pieces in the book she has on Picasso._  
  
The robin shook its feathers; Tom turned away as a large gob of guano dropped into an off-white splatter on an extended piece of metal.   
  
_Inside or outside - I’ll have to deal with someone’s shit, either way._  
  
“I don’t get it. I get what you see in her, but what does she see in you?”  
  
Tom actually chuckled. “No. You don’t.”  
  
Daria blinked. “Excuse me?  
  
 _What the hell. Might as well blow the evening – I have that short scene due in Mr. Keys’ class, anyway._    
  
“You don’t get what I see in Jane,” Tom said; the couch didn’t seem so lumpy as he leaned back and thought quite loudly _And you probably haven’t ever gotten it from anyone, either… unless they used it to plug up that damned big mouth of yours._  
  
 _Okay – really bad pun. Not that Jane and I have gone that far, but Jesus – if anyone needs to take off somewhere and get themselves fucked really good and hard over a long weekend, your name is very high on that list._  
  
Daria dismissed him from her notice. “You’re a joke.   
  
“I’ve been hanging around Jane for a couple of weeks,” Tom replied. “You wouldn’t know a joke if one hit you from low orbit.”  
  
Accusing brown eyes once more locked upon him from behind twin shields of corrective lenses. “So, you’re a comedian, also. Is there anything that the strapping young Master Thomas can’t do?”  
  
The amber-haired young woman uncrossed her legs – _not bad at all,_  Tom noted in passing, _too bad they’re wasted on you_  – as she scooted forward to sit on the edge of the chair she’d planted herself in upon her arrival.   
  
“All right. Make me laugh.”  
  
“I wouldn’t waste jokes on you, Daria. The bird out on the statue has a better sense of humor.”  
  
The accusing eyes from across the rook locked on Tom, and he idly wondered why a ‘missile warning’ sound hadn’t just kicked on in the back of his thoughts.   
  
“I guess your money doesn’t get you everything you want.”  
  
The self-satisfied half-smirk on Daria’s face – and the comment about money – made Tom growl inwardly. _Still, I like making out with Jane – I like Jane - so be nice._  
  
“Silly joke, good joke, or tasteless joke?”  
  
Daria shrugged. “Surprise me.”  
  
“Fine. _An Englishman, a Nazi, a Texan and a Mexican are in a bomber over the Atlantic that’s only running on one engine. The pilot yells, ‘we have to drop weight!’”_  
  
Daria brushed a lock of hair back as Tom continued. _“They strip out everything, but the pilot says, ‘we need to drop more weight!’ The Englishman says ‘_ _God save the Queen_ _!’ – and jumps. The Nazi says, ‘_ _For the Fatherland_ _!’ – and jumps. The Texan says, ‘_ _Remember the Alamo_ _!’ – and kicks the Mexican out the door.”_  
  
Tom watched as Daria raised her right hand, and moved it from side-to-side. “Meh.”  
  
“Okay – tasteless,” Tom said, rising from the couch. _“Which is easier to unload – a truckload of cinderblocks, or a truckload of dead babies?”_  
  
Daria raised an eyebrow – but before she could answer, Tom replied, _“Dead babies – because you can use a pitchfork.”_  
  
The petite young woman blinked as Tom mimed sticking a pitchfork into something at his feet. _“How can you tell if you’ve hit a live one?”_ he continued – and before Daria could speak, he began to mime himself holding onto the imaginary pitchfork for dear life as something writhed on the end.  
  
Without giving Daria a chance to comment on what he’d just done, Tom snapped off, _“Wanna see my ‘Elvis’ impression?”_  
  
Residual traces of a smile were visible as Daria watched Tom pull up an imaginary collar, jerk his hips once, again – and then lean backwards against the wall like a corpse, with closed eyes and arms crossed against his chest.  
  
"You're going to spend a 'day trip' in Hell for that one," Daria finally spoke; the hostility in her eyes had finally disappeared. “That – was _horrible_.”  
  
“You want horrible? Silly joke,” Tom shot back. _“What did the snail say when he got a ride on the turtle’s back?”_  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
Tom held both arms high in the air. _“_ _WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE_ _!”_  
  
A strangled sound that resembled a hearty laugh being violently suppressed, and turning into a fit of coughing because of it, caught Jane Lane’s attention as she entered at exactly that moment.   
  
“What the heck’s choking you?” Jane said, tossing a smile at Tom as she whacked Daria on the back. “Did you swallow a piece of chair stuffing again, Daria?  
  
“Ha, ha, Lane. Amusing as usual – and stop whacking me on the back, already!”  
  
Daria pushed her glasses back up on her nose – which twitched as she smelled the pizza in the pair of boxes that Jane adroitly held in her free hand as she had slapped Daria’s back. “Is this why you called me over? Pizza? Good woman.”  
  
“No – thank the strapping young stallion there,” Jane told her. “I chose the evening’s entertainment and paid for it, and dear, dear Thomas gratefully chose to pay for the dinner. By the way, hot stuff – the sodas are on the stoop. Go get them – and go get some cups and ice from the kitchen. Get the clean ones – and check them; Trent was supposed to wash dishes yesterday!”  
  
Tom headed for the door. As he picked up the pair of two-liter bottles of Ultra Cola, he heard Jane say, “Sorry about you two having to be stuck in here together, _amiga_. I hope that you didn’t feel the need to try and tear him a new one.”  
  
"Nah," Daria responded, her tone strangely noncommittal. "I'm good. Surprisingly."  
  
"Hey! Our little girl's growing up!"  
  
"Oh, bite me."  
  
As he stepped back inside, he glanced towards the living room as Jane, a thick slice of pizza in hand, twirled a long, meat-and-veggie-filled strand of cheese slowly into her mouth; his gaze met Daria’s for a slight moment as he continued to walk towards the kitchen.  
  
 _I guess she does have a sense of humor,_  he thought, as he reached for a trio of glasses and checked to see it they were clean. _Crack in the cast-iron bitch armor. Who knew?_  
  
Tom filled the glasses with ice, picked up several paper plates, and started back to the living room; the sound of the credits beginning filled the air.   
  
_Maybe she won’t be such a bitch after all,_  he thought, as he handed a glass first to Jane and then Daria, who actually said ‘Thank you’ as she accepted the class. _Maybe she’ll actually be someone who’ll be worth being around, as soon as she finally gets past the idea that my dating Jane doesn’t mean that they can’t be best friends anymore._  
  
Tom took three slices of pizza upon a plate and eased himself down into a spot on the couch next to Jane; he glanced over at Daria, halfway through a slice of pizza as she watched the film.   
  
_Maybe, someday, we’ll be able to actually get along._  
  
  
 **END**

 

 

 

28 July 2011


End file.
